The Horror and Majesty of Presidential Slashfic

As a citizen of the United States who pays attention to politics, Josh Fruhlinger has been immersed in the same grim, greasy puddle of star-spangled disingenuousness as the rest of us. As someone who writes about politics at Wonkette (and on Twitter), Fruhlinger has spent even more time splashing around in there than have those of us queasily doing our civic duty to self-inform. Where Fruhlinger breaks with the rest of us—the less brave, less masochistic or less disturbed portion of the electorate, depending on your perspective—is that he has channeled his issues with the ambient falsity of the campaign into a very particular, especially squirm-inducing type of fantasy.

As the curator and judge of Hail To The Slash, the internet's only Presidential Slashfic contest, Fruhlinger oversees an unholy and stomach-clenchingly hilarious collision of political history and the internet's least-reputable literary genre. While slashfic, in which characters from movies and books get it on, is currently more uncomfortably close to the mainstream than ever before—50 Shades of Grey began as Twilightslashfic, remember—it has lost none of its queasy charge, and is made no less disturbing by the presence of Herman Cain or Walter Mondale. But there's something oddly empowering about not merely telling powerful politicians to go fuck themselves from the comfort of the couch, but actually making them do it. I talked to Fruhlinger about desperate times, desperate measures, and how and why the thought of Teddy Roosevelt and William Howard Taft making tender love first popped into his head.

GQ: This is a terrible idea. Why are you doing this?

Fruhlinger: Because... it's what America needs right now? Let's go with that. Or maybe it's what America DESERVES right now.

GQ: When did it occur to you that this—that is, asking the entire perverse internet to write a bunch of dude-on-dude political erotica—was something you should do?

Fruhlinger: This story actually begins in 2008. I have written for many years a blog about newspaper comic strips called The Comics Curmudgeon; this has a very active comment section and people there are as a rule funny, civil, and nice to each other, which distinguishes my blog from virtually every other site that exists on the Internet.

However, in the days leading up to the 2008 U.S. presidential election, this civility broke down as a number of nasty political fights broke out. In attempt to stave off further unpleasantness, I demanded that my readers funnel their political passions into Taft/Roosevelt slash fiction. I have nothing concrete I can tell you about why that idea came into my head; I think I had just read a book about the 1912 election so their fraught relationship was in my mind, I guess. Mostly it was an attempt to come up with a request as absurd as possible to radically shift everyone's mental gears, the way you'd wave a chair in a lion's face to distract it from its attempt to eat you.

To my surprise, people not only wrote some stuff, but much of it was quite good, for whatever value of "good" you want to assign to Taft/Roosevelt slash fiction. Ever since I had it in the back of my mind that I'd do something bigger along those lines come 2012.

Also, as a side note, I should add that, while everything has to be same-sex, characters can include failed candidates and presidential/VP spouses, which means that it's not restricted to dude-dude. So, you know, Shirley Chisolm/Betty Ford? Bring it!

GQ: Describe, if you can, the physical sensation of reading political slashfic. I don't mean—I really don't mean—"got a boner." But there's this special squirmy ugh-factor to it, for me, that this induces which is unlike most anything else. The closest analogues I can come up with would be listening to Nancy Grace talk. Or maybe you don't get that from it. But what do you get from reading these?

Fruhlinger: Happily, I have yet to actually encounter a presidential slashfic that has aroused me. But honestly the sensation I get is often delight, because it combines a number of my weird interests: History nerdery, politics nerdery, and fan fiction weirdness. Like, there's a story in the queue this week about James Buchanan and William Rufus King (who may have actually been a couple in real life) and Abe Lincoln that's full of all sorts of mid-19th century politics in-jokes. And then there's another one about Mark Halperin and John McCain that's full of memories for all of us who were obsessively watching the 2008 election. Then you map all of this onto a really strange genre that has its own weirdly specific rules and subgenres, and which isn't terribly well-known in and of itself. The result is a crazy mash-up of things I find interesting. I love the fact that anyone else on earth shares those interests, and love to see what they bring to it.

GQ: During the Republican primary debates, I was also drawn towards the spectacular queasiness of GOP erotica. But while there's something just hilariously gross about imagining seething sexual tension between Rick Santorum and anyone/anything, there's also something retributive in pantsing the shaming-est, harshest public figures. What is it that you think makes political slashfic so perversely gripping?

Fruhlinger: "Retributive" is definitely a word I'd use for some of these, and given the demographic that might participate in such an endeavor, that retribution has definitely been aimed at right-wingers. I think the jolt comes from imagining—sometimes in graphic detail—the emotional and sexual lives of all of these people. Even in a world after the Starr Report, which contained actual heterosexual nonfiction presidential erotica, I think there's a thrill in peeling back a public figure's facade. The thing that's so intense about it in many cases is the vulnerability, which is the last thing any politician ever wants to project. It's a way of either cutting someone down to size or humanizing them, depending on your feelings about them.

GQ: What scenarios have repeated themselves among the poli-slashfic you've read? I've been struck, in the way one is struck by a massive wave of nausea, at the volume of Teddy Roosevelt/William Howard Taft stuff.

Fruhlinger: Well, there was so much Roosevelt/Taft stuff because I specifically requested it in '08. The stuff I've been getting for this latest iteration has been remarkably diverse. In terms of the settings, it's been fairly well spread out between current events, recent history, and stuff from the early 20th and 19th century. No Founding Father stuff, at least not yet.

Thematically, I'd break the entries down into three main categories: Stories that attempt to portray some genuine emotional connection between the participants, or at least emotional consequences; stories that are mostly just funny, playing around with historical trivia and stereotypes of character; and stories that horrifying Grand Guignol horror where (for example) Herman Cain urinates on Newt Gingrich.

That said, I'm really surprised I haven't received a million entries entitled "Spreading Santorum." I've gotten exactly one entry featuring him so far. Maybe people just can't handle the thought of it.

GQ: Say someone wanted to try to write a winning, enduring piece of political slashfic. What would you suggest they do and not do? Are there scenarios or political figures to avoid? Ski lodge? Calvin Coolidge? Calvin Coolidge and a time-traveling Tucker Carlson in a ski lodge?

Fruhlinger: You should write about people that you know and love (or hate) well enough that you're familiar with details about them and their milieu that will make the story interesting. Really, nobody is coming here for the smut, or just for the smut, anyway. Also, under no circumstances should you include Tucker Carlson in your story, as even I have some vague sense of decency about what I inflict upon an unsuspecting world.

"Here are a few things this isn't, Ryan," Mitt said, stepping deliberately - and chest-tighteningly - closer. "This isn't a joke." Now one of Mitt's hands lay on his shoulder, the other casually tugged on his belt loop. "And this isn't a game." The hand moved. "So I want to make sure that you're *paying attention.*"

"I am. I'm paying attention, I am," Paul insisted. A finger traced the hollow of his collarbone and he twitched helplessly, gasping. Could the others hear them talking?

"They told you what's going to happen to you after the election." Not a question. Paul nodded. "Good. I wanted to be sure that you knew - that you accepted it - that you were ready."

"This is - this is why you nominated me?"

The words came in close and warm against the shell of his ear: "Ryan, this is why I *ran*."

"Oh Tippacanoe, I want to swallow your seed and have the babies grown in my belly." This was a joke between them. They smiled at the familiarity of it. Inside jokes and the familiar feel of a lover's arms; these were the flotsam that they clung to in the choppy surf that was the 1840 presidential election. Here in William Henry's much-touted log cabin, Martin could leave the vitriol of the campaign trail behind. Both men patriots, they longed to serve their country, though this longing took different forms.

With a low, contrabass chuckle, the Dalai Lama pressed his hands together in greeting -- then did the same with his feet. Clinton marveled at the way His Holiness could twist his legs around his own head. I guess he really is a splittist, he thought.

"Used to be we were men in battle," Ike said grandly. "Men were men and the sheep weren't nervous because we had each other. It was a beautiful thing, the band of brothers."

"Okay, I can see how...."

"And sometimes people would get a little handsy. Just because, well, that's how it was. Later, when you had your own command, you'd get in a WAC you liked, but before then...well, you made do, Jack. You made do."

"I suppose," Jack said.

"Oh, don't be so missish," Ike said. "We all know about the Navy. A ship leaves port with three hundred sailors and returns with a hundred and fifty couples."